and i'll write your name
by ten.years.only.with.you
Summary: he's always the one turning the tables. tag to 6x15 CAUSE I AM OVER JULIE PLAGUE/ klaroline of course


tag to 6x15. CAUSE I AM TIRED OF THE PLAGUE SO I WRITE FF.

x

_he can make all the tables turn._

x

the day she goes to the flower to shop to buy the funeral arrangements, the entire fucking thing is sold out.

all the tall, fragile stalks of lavender are bought out, a scattered smattering of long stemmed white roses are leftover and wilting in their pools of cool blue. there are few sunburst tulips left and not enough daisies are left to make a child's crown. the stargazer lilies and dusty peonies are plucked over and only a few sparse greens are wound into shy décor for her mother's resting area. the shop keeper has the decency to stare at the ground, fallen petal slippers the last remnants. everything is gone.

caroline sinks to the floor and cries. her mother is—_was_, she can hear damon's, of all people, voice in her head—so alive and there is nothing, not even a goddamn cosmos to weave in the rungs of her casket. she is caroline forbes, _not girly little caroline anymore_, so she gets up and slams the door so hard on her way out that the glass cracks. her four inch stilettos puncture the sidewalk and her blonde ringlets fly out wildly behind her.

she carries on.

x

everyone gets a job and no one complains, no one objects, no one even places a hand on her shoulder. they're too afraid of her and if she is being perfectly honest, _it's about damn time_.

she dons in a simple black cocktail dress, tissues in her pockets, a braid weaving in the tangled mess of buttercream, those blue eyes with no mascara, and red, always red, lipstick. she knows she should be more of a mess, but she is caroline, so she has a plan and a backup plan on top of that one that she hopes she doesn't have to employ.

(three hours later with her hands around the perfect girl's neck, she doesn't really give a shit.)

x

she mentally prepares for the lack of life when she enters the church, cursing the flower shop all the while. caroline is anything but unprepared and the anger that burns in her chest is a constant reminder of escape plans and rome, paris, tokyo is sounding better every time it rolls over her tongue so much that the wind is knocked out of her—and she doesn't even breathe—when she saunters as much as a dead girl with a dead mother can saunter into the church and every goddamn flower missing in action is strangling the chandeliers and pews and wrapped adoringly around her mother's open grave.

peonies kiss her neck, long stemmed white roses slip through cracks of ivory lace, stalks of lavender and iris, daisy crowns and sunflower skirts, tulips in every color imaginable. stargazer lilies suffocatingly so line the aisle and blue drops of bells whistle quietly. there is an abundance of green and color and life and she halts and turns slowly to glance behind her because there is only one person, one man that could make any of this happen.

the hall is empty save for the slap of what she knows to be stefan's dress shoes against the tile. his eyes widen upon surveying the room taking in the overwhelming beauty and grace of the flowers, the lithe slip of green stems and plush soft of petals. every beauty and grace, but her. she chokes down a sigh because there are no right words or phrases and she just feels sick anyways.

(he is ultimately a disappointment, but when has that ever been a surprise.)

x

damon's speech sounds like a shitty version of everything she has ever been told but has only felt the sentiment once and she banished that asshole to the swamp.

caroline sings for her mother because her mother loved her and she loved her mother so much that she isn't sure this pain is ever going to go away. she digs her nails into her palm, draws blood, focuses on liz forbes because she deserves the world even though the world isn't the world without her in it anymore.

x

she snaps Elena's neck and doesn't feel a damn thing.

she snaps the button and doesn't feel a damn thing.

she snaps the door handle and doesn't feel a damn thing.

she snaps the man at the diner's neck and drains him after she finishes her cherry pie and French fries and doesn't feel a damn thing.

and then she opens the letter that came postmarked from lousiana. she sets her gps coordinates to new Orleans, drives all through the night, and stands outside his compound in the French quarter, sunlight ghosting over her bare skin, salt air rippling the flounce of her romper, bleach sunglasses on her face and hair thrown up in a sloppy bun. there is blood on her chin and a daisy behind her ear and she stands there and curses him to all holy hell until someone finally comes outside and tells her to shut the fuck up.

x

to say that elijah is surprised to see her is the understatement of the century and she can already see the wheels in his head twirling as he examines her from head to toe before smiling that cat ate the canary grin she is sure klaus stole back in the baroque era. he extends an arm and sweeps her forward, sandals slapping the cobblestones and then there is a ruckus of yelling from the balcony and the sounds of a babe crying and she pauses, freezes in her slow lope.

elijah tilts his head and lifts his chin, the slightest of nods with stormcast eyes and guilt coming from him in stenchful waves. she sets her mouth in a firm line and wrenches him the silver cross—ironic she knows—from her neck. delicate and refined, like she used to be. caroline gives a twisted side grin and whispers off into the street, kick starts her engine, and screeches down the street. she sets new coordinates and heads straight to florida, the wind howling through open windows and music blaring so loud she can't hear herself scream the lyrics.

x

her phone buzzes in the passenger seat with an unknown number. she checks it in gulf shores, feet in the water, sun dipping into an orange slush on the horizon behind her.

_unknown: you got my gift_

_unknown: they're looking for you_

_unknown: i know i'm the last person you're going to listen to, but you're making… it's a mistake_

_unknown: fine, turn your back on me. i know you were here. elijah told me so. _

_unknown: you didn't have to leave_

_caroline: you are harassing me. _

_unknown: oh come on now love_

_caroline: i'm too smart to be seduced by you._

_unknown: i know. that's why i like you_

she smiles for the first time since the casket was lowered into the ground. she can almost hear his voice.

x


End file.
